


Pining

by Jacqueline Albright-Beckett (xaandria)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cockles, I DON'T WRITE COCKLES, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaandria/pseuds/Jacqueline%20Albright-Beckett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're doing it. They're actually putting it in the show. They're filming the kiss the day after tomorrow. And Misha has reservations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pining

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tundraeternal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tundraeternal/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY LILY! I WROTE YOU A THING! Unbeta'd and probably every bit as terrible as I think it is, but it's written in love. Seriously. I love you. Because only blind, devoted love could make me write a Cockles fic for you. LOVE

Misha knew it would be a Big Deal when it was announced that there would be a script meeting.

Normally they just went to pick up their scripts whenever they arrived on set, flipped through them, and then thoroughly ignored them until just before shooting the scene, at which point they would all feverishly shove the lines into their heads until the scene was wrapped. The only time they had actual script meetings was at the beginning of a new season - or when a major plot element was going to be introduced.

This was clearly one of the latter.

It was confirmed by the non-disclosure agreement that was passed around for their signatures before the scripts were even released; usually the first page of the script, with its legal mumbo-jumbo about leaking to social media and the related consequences, was more than enough. Misha scribbled something illegible at the bottom of his page and shared a significant glance with Jensen.

“You think?” he asked under his breath.

Jensen shrugged. “Could be,” he replied, eyeing the stack of scripts at the end of the table.

Misha leaned forward as the lead writer began passing out the scripts. “The scene you’re all looking for is on page thirty-two,” he said with a barely concealed grin, handing Misha his copy. Misha immediately cracked it open and began flipping pages.

It was a little-known fact that Jensen was the fastest reader of any of them. Misha’s eyes had only just fallen on the page and registered it as a scene- an argument - between Dean and Castiel when Jensen said, in disbelief, “Holy shit. We’re doing it.”

 _Literally?_ Misha wanted to jest, and the word was on the tip of his tongue when he got to the line and nearly choked.

_**DEAN and CASTIEL KISS.** _

Jared let out a low whistle, eyes growing wide, and similar sounds of astonishment were beginning to issue from the rest of the assembled cast and crew.

“It’s either genius or suicide,” the lead writer said as he sat back down in his seat. “We’ll know when it airs in November. But...the social climate is right. The execs think it’s worth the chance. And the fans have been...vocal.”

“Granted, half of them would sell their soul for this to happen, and the other half want to set Misha on fire,” Jared pointed out.

"I may be in the minority here, but I'd like to avoid immolation if at all possible," Misha interjected.

"Nobody is setting anyone on fire. At least not in this episode." The lead writer snapped his script shut. "Do you two have anything to say about this? I know we talked about it, and you've certainly been pushing for it long enough."

Jensen was still skimming the page. "No. Not really. It's coming at a good time. And the lead-in is good. Any other direction on it, or just kind of take it as it happens?"

The director cleared his throat. "We thought it would be best to let you and Misha work it out on your own. It's what you two tend to do anyway."

Jensen grinned sheepishly. "This is true." He looked over at Misha. "You good with it?"

The words in the script seemed to float before Misha's eyes. "Yeah. Peachy. When do we shoot it?"

"Day after tomorrow."

 

* * *

 

 

"I can't say," Misha said reluctantly, flopping into a chair with his phone. "The NDA I signed was watertight. I think I'll owe them my firstborn if I let anything leak."

"Well," Vicki said matter-of-factly on the other end of the line, "your firstborn has been an absolute fiend today, so I think it would be a fair trade."

Misha chuckled. "Let's just say it's going to be an ... emotionally difficult week."

There was a beat of silence. "There's a kiss, isn't there?"

"I said nothing of the sort."

"There is. Shit, hon, I'm sorry."

"I said nothing." Misha took a sip of the beer he was holding. "And even if I did, it would be wildly inappropriate to assume that I can't handle it."

"You've been pining after him for years."

"I'm not - it's not _pining_."

"Lovestruck? Infatuated? Enamored? Take your pick."

"You make me sound like a fourteen-year-old girl. It's - just Jensen. That's all." The truth was, Misha didn't want to put a word to it. Naming it meant acknowledging that it was a problem, and it wasn't. It was just the background radiation of his life. You didn't need to name every bird in the park to deal with the fact that they were there. And he could deal with the fact that despite the outrageous flirting, Jensen was straight, married, and didn't - and wouldn't - return whatever attraction Misha felt towards him. The situation, as it were, didn't need a name. It was just there.

"Whatever you say. It's going to suck for you."

"True. Well, it'll suck afterwards. During will be pretty fantastic." A pause. "I didn't just say that. Forget I said it."

"What was that? The signal cut out."

Misha smiled ruefully. "Nothing important. Can you put West on?"

"I most certainly cannot. It took an hour and a half to put him to bed. I'm not going to let you rile him up again."

"How dare you suggest such a thing." Misha heaved a sigh. "I better go. I'm not on set until nine, but I want to get a run in first."

"Sure. One thing, first. When is this going to air?"

"November, I think. Why?"

"I need to make sure I get all my conference calls done before the internet explodes."

"Very funny."

"Sorry. I'll talk to you tomorrow. And ... if you need to vent..."

"I know. Thanks. Love you."

"Love you too."

 

* * *

 

 

They put more effort into working out the blocking for the scene than they did for most fight scenes, walking through the steps, shifting the marks, and - Misha thought - overthinking it a ridiculous amount. Jensen seemed almost distracted in his hyper-focused way, and Misha tried to emulate him, quelling the anxiety in his middle with the seriousness of what they were about to do. They were, after all, about to change the tone of the entire show, and there would be no going back.

"We ready? We'll run through the entire scene, through the kiss, and then do the individual shots," the director said.

Both Misha and Jensen nodded. There was no point in putting it off any further.

"Scene forty-seven, B and D, take one." The sharp crack of the clapboard was like a lightswitch in Misha's mind, and he could feel everything that was Misha fall away and leave behind the fallen angel, standing in a brick alleyway, facing down not Jensen, but an infuriated Dean.

"What the hell was that?" Dean demanded, sheathing his knife.

"I think that was me pulling your ass out of the fire," Castiel retorted.

"You weren't supposed to. You were supposed to stay back until we had them all trapped. This was the best chance we had, and you blew it."

"So one got away. He'll bleed out before he gets to anyone else. You were about two inches away from being infected, Dean."

"Yeah, and now all of Branson is two inches away from being infected!" Dean bellowed, pushing angrily at Castiel's shoulders.

"If you think I was going to spring the trap with you inside -"

"You used to lead an army. Did you forget the term 'acceptable losses?'"

Castiel reached forward and grasped at the front of Dean's jacket, yanking him closer. "You are not expendable. End of story. I'd rather see this entire city burned to the ground than be the one to pull the trigger on you."

Dean's glower melted into something softer - befuddlement? "Why?" he demanded, but there was no real conviction behind it.

"Why?" Castiel bared his teeth in a brittle, self-deprecating grin. "Are you really that blind, Dean?" He opened his mouth as though to say more, but no words came. He let go of the lapels of Dean's jacket and let his hands fall. "I need you," he said finally, and it was clear by the expression this wrought on Dean's face that the words had been chosen wisely.

Eyes locked, Castiel's - Misha's - heart started beating faster as Dean's lips parted slightly in the same agonizing indecision that had been plaguing him for months. Almost automatically, Castiel raised a hand towards Dean's face - and that was all the encouragement Dean required.

They had camera angles to consider, but that was the work of the cameramen - and no doubt this would require several takes anyway - Misha felt a dizzying melding of both himself and Castiel at the first brush of Jensen's - no, Dean's - lips against his and he responded with the fervor of a man who had been starving for it for a lifetime. If Jensen was taken aback at this he didn't show it; his lips parted and it became that certain kind of open-mouthed television kissing that was really no more than the snatching of lips against one another's, because tongue kissing wasn't nearly as sexy on camera.

One of Dean's hands made its way to the back of Castiel's neck and his fingers curled into the disheveled locks there, and Castiel shivered. As did Misha. He could hear the camera rig moving on its tracks around them, getting that coveted, dramatic 360-degree shot, and it was all he could do to keep the kiss from dissolving into something with actual passion behind it - something real.

And finally, the inevitable happened - either the absurdity of it had occurred to him, or Jensen had been holding back the laughter ever since Misha had grabbed his lapels, but Jensen's lips stretched against Misha's in a smile and he started snickering, which was enough to set Misha off in an exhilarated, nervous echo.

"Cut!" The director called, and they practically shoved one another away, snickers giving way to actual laughter, and Misha felt his legs grow weak at how deeply it was pulled from him. He had to support himself with a hand on Jensen's shoulder as he tried to draw a deep, calming breath, but one look at each other and they were off again.

"Take five minutes. Seperately," the director ordered with some mirth, and Misha patted Jensen's shoulder as he set off towards the opposite end of the set, laughter still bubbling up from his stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the takes were supplements to the one long shot - tight angles, snippets of dialogue, an hour each of reaction shots where one of them looked mournfully at the camera and tried not to laugh as the other delivered their lines.

And then there was the breakaway.

The director and script supervisor had made the executive decision to combine the breakaway and tight angle shots, possibly to minimize the amount of time Jensen and Misha would have to spend actually kissing, but probably because the afternoon was rapidly advancing toward evening.

So Misha lowered himself into that serious state again, running over the last few lines of dialogue, immersing himself in Castiel's mindset as Jensen did the same. They weren't there yet, not completely; they were still Misha and Jensen as they took their marks and brought their faces close.

"From the kiss. Scene forty-seven, take twelve, A and B, action."

Jensen slipped away from Dean's eyes as he leaned forward to press his lips hungrily to Castiel's, and Castiel had no choice but to respond in kind. It somehow had more fervor than before; there was a spark there that wasn't entirely Cas and Dean. Misha instinctively went with it, edging nearer to press Castiel's body again'st Dean's, Dean's other hand going to the small of Castiel's back and pressing lightly.

It was Castiel who broke the kiss first, opening his eyes and inhaling in a hitched little gasp as Dean opened his own eyes and they were so close.

It was impossible to not see Jensen there, not to see his eyes full of surprise and guilty pleasure and relief. Something sickly twisted in Misha's chest and he swallowed.

They needed to keep the eye contact until the director cut them; it seemed to drag for hours as Misha struggled to keep Castiel wrapped about him like a suit of armor. This was Cas, and that was Dean. And that was the end of it.

"Cut! And wrap. That was...that was fantastic, guys. Well done. We'll look at the footage and let you know if we need anything else, but..." The director and script supervisor both looked extraordinarily pleased, which almost never happened; they were usually at odds about something in any given scene. "We'll see you tomorrow morning for scene twelve."

Misha bobbed a quick nod, perhaps more stoic than he'd intended it, and, spying Jensen heading to the corner where their chairs were clustered, took that moment to slip off to his trailer.

A cool rag pressed against his face did wonders to ground himself in reality. He told himself he was just wiping off the makeup, and he was, but he hardly needed to be alone to do that. There were people who were paid to do it for him, and do a better job of it than he was doing.

He didn't want to admit the truth of it: his wife was right. He was pining.

Such a ridiculous word, he mused to himself as he poured more water onto the towel. Pining. Trees had nothing to do with it. He was - he was _yearning_. That was a better word. And that was bad enough, but now it was getting in the way of his ability to function. His ability to do his goddamn job.

And that was something to be ashamed of.

The sharp knock at his trailer door cut short Misha's reverie of self-admonishment. "Yeah?" he called, wiping his face once more with the towel.

"It's me. Can I come in?"

Misha's stomach churned. He tamped it down as best he could. "'Course. It's unlocked."

Jensen had disposed of most of Dean's layers, the black t-shirt and faded jeans the only survivors. Misha glanced down at himself, still in the Winchester-esque ensemble wardrobe had painstakingly crafted for him that somehow was still distinctly Castiel. Seeing it made him feel inexplicably calmer as Jensen sprawled on the couch next to Misha. It was something he could hide behind.

Strange; he'd never had that sentiment before. Acting wasn't hiding or pretending. But right now, that was all Misha could think of to do.

Jensen was staring straight ahead, brow furrowed as though he was trying to figure out what to say. Misha let him sit. His usual little digs seemed gauche at the moment, and while he normally wasn't above gauche, something about Jensen's demeanor stayed his tongue.

"That wasn't all acting back there," Jensen said finally, turning his head to look at Misha.

There wasn't a single note of accusation in the statement, but Misha felt a guilty flush begin at the back of his neck anyway. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking down at his hands. "I, uh, guess I let it get away from me."

"What?" Jensen asked, cocking his head to the side.

Misha blinked. "It wasn't acting. Not all of it. But I've got a handle on it. Don't worry. I won't let it be an issue. Not when we've both worked for this story arc for so long." He paused to lick his lips, realizing he was babbling and trying to put his thoughts in order, when Jensen laid a hand on his arm in a halting gesture.

"Wait - I - I was talking about me. I wasn't - it wasn't entirely Dean back there."

Misha felt rather as though he'd been sprinting on a treadmill and it had suddenly stopped, but he hadn't. "What?"

Jensen had the grace to blush. That made Misha feel better. "Are you really surprised? After how many years of trying to get in my pants?"

"I never -" Misha began to object, then reconsidered at Jensen's arch look. "I was never serious," he amended. His mind slowly began to work again, offering phrases that were not up to his usual standard of quality, but would have to do. "I mean - you're married. You've got a kid now. The whole - the whole 'Cockles' thing - it was all just a big joke. A fun joke," he hurried to add, "But it wasn't - it was never meant to be real."

"Yeah, well." Jensen shrugged. "You play a part long enough..."

Jensen hadn't moved his hand from Misha's arm. Misha looked at it, and because words tended to come from his mouth without getting permission first, he was speaking before he had time to consider whether it was wise. "So, are we gonna make out, or what?"

Jensen laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle, and his other hand went to cup Misha's cheek as Misha leaned in.

There were no cameras to consider, no character to filter the sensations through; this was not a graceful television kiss. There were tongues and tiny little playful nips and in wordless agreement they shifted, breaking contact only to press their mouths to the crease of the other's neck or to tease at an earlobe, until they were half-reclined on the couch with Jensen's warm weight resting atop Misha.

Which was new. Misha wasn't particularly used to being the one in this position. He wondered at it for the barest of moments, at how he'd instinctively let Jensen completely take charge when all along, it had been Misha pushing the flirting, but then one of Jensen's hands brushed - probably accidentally - at some of the bare skin where Misha's shirt had ridden up and the goosebumps were so delicious that he completely lost track of what was probably a very profound line of thought.

It was over too soon; Misha nearly grabbed Jensen's collar and tugged him down again when Jensen pushed himself up, but he thought better of it. Any more and they'd both be too thoroughly debauched for anyone to remain oblivious to what they'd been up to.

Which...

"Speaking of things we weren't speaking of," Misha said overly casually as he sat up and raked his fingers through his hair, attempting to tease it into something resembling normal, "you know how we could really fuck with people?"

A tiny half-smile quirked the side of Jensen's mouth. "How?"

"Not tell 'em. Keep up the ridiculous flirting. Let the Cockles rumors run wild. Hide in plain sight and love every second of it."

"So," Jensen said, "basically what we've been doing, except we're actually doing what everyone thinks we're doing."

"Maybe not _everything_ everyone thinks we're doing," Misha hedged. "You haven't been on Tumblr."

"Thank God."

 

* * *

 

 

The episode wrapped on the following Thursday. As was the custom, a case of beer was brought out and everyone on set took a bottle, toasting one another.

"To Destiel becoming canon," Misha suggested, raising his bottle. There was a chorus of "Here, here!" and general laughter as everyone else did the same.

He caught Jensen's eye and winked as he upended the bottle. Jensen winked back.


End file.
